


Most Wonderful Time of the Year

by wistfulwatcher



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-05
Updated: 2011-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wistfulwatcher/pseuds/wistfulwatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn't notice the waitress waiting to take her order until Mr. Schue nudged her foot under the table and leaned toward her with a whispered, "Rach?" Oneshot, written for cliche_30 challenge on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Wonderful Time of the Year

They’d been an inconvenience from the moment they’d set foot in Breadsticks. Fourteen people (they’d invited Kurt and his now official boyfriend, Blaine) without a reservation, requesting a table together the day before Christmas Eve at 7:30pm. Their waitress had almost flipped, but Mr. Schue just shot her a boyish smile and a shrug, and somehow it worked.

Rachel had been for the all-club outing since Finn had suggested it yesterday during rehearsal. Of course, she’d planned to sit either next to or across from him, not quite at the other end of the table with Schue, Mercedes, Mike and Tina (while Finn was surrounded by Santana, Brittany, Artie and Puck) which, no offense, was clearly the loser’s table.

Ending up in her current chair hadn’t put her in a good mood for the evening, and neither had her club-mates’ loud and obnoxious cheering and laughing. She’d tried to catch Finn’s eyes all night, but he wasn’t making it easy. She was staring so intently, in fact, that she didn’t notice the waitress waiting to take her order until Mr. Schue nudged her foot under the table and leaned toward her with a whispered, “Rach?”

With their orders in, things quieted down. Rachel was grateful for the quiet, but sad at the same time. She, for once, did not want to say much, and the lack of conversation made it more likely she’d need to.

So when Quinn gazed adoringly at Sam (yuck) and started to hum “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” she couldn’t help but be appreciative. Soon the humming grew in volume as Mercedes, Kurt then Blaine joined in singing along (Rachel noted with fear that Dalton would pose a threat unless Mr. Schue started listening to her ideas more often). Of course, Rachel’s superb vocals were needed in this mix, so, with a reluctant smile, she jumped in.

As they wrapped up (drawing a few smiles and applause from nearing tables), Rachel glanced over her shoulder and caught Mr. Schue smiling at her out of the corner of her eye. “What?” she asked, playfully.

In a shrug of faux-innocence, he leaned back in his chair and held his hands up in front of himself in defense. “Nothing,” he shook his head.

After their song, Brittany produced a bag of badly wrapped spheres, which she passed out to everyone, suddenly shy and very, very innocent looking. “I made them myself,” she smiled sweetly as Artie put his hand on her hand.

Of course, the fact that she made them herself was panfully obvious as Rachel opened her package to reveal a pinecone dusted in glitter, with her name in glitter glue (gold) across the base of the pinecone. Through the leaves near the base, Brittany had looped fishing line; it was an ornament.

Before Rachel could join in with the thanks and hugs, Brittany looked down at her spoon and added, “Puck and Rachel, I know you’re Jewish, but maybe you can hang it on your Lenore.”

Artie smiled at his girlfriend and tightened his grip on her hand. Rachel felt tears prickling at her eyes, and got up to give Brittany a hug. Reaching the other end of the table, she looped her arms around the other girl, conscious of the bewildered looks on the others’ faces. “Thank you. It’s perfect,” she whispered.

Blushing as she pulled away from the blonde, she rushed back to her seat, sitting down quickly and tucking the ornament away.

Again, when she looked up Mr. Schue was looking at her. Before she could question, their food arrived. The rest of the night went by quickly, and the whole club got along (while making lots of noise). Rachel caught herself a few times _not_ looking at Finn, and once, when she tried to correct this, she _did_ meet Finn’s eyes. She noted that he looked pained, before shaking his head and turning toward Santana.

Finally, Puck stood up and pulled on his jacket. “I gotta bounce. I’m supposed to pick up some TV dinners for my mom.” Before he could get out his wallet, Mr. Schue interrupted.

“Put your wallet away, Puck. All of you. Tonight’s on me, guys.” Rachel remained silent, staring at his profile as her peers rushed to thank their teacher. “No, you guys deserve this. We went through a lot of tough times this year, but I want you to know how proud I am of all of you.”

Rachel picked at her plate while everyone else said their goodbyes and hugged, tugging on their coats and gloves and scarves.

As the table thinned, Rachel grabbed her purse and ducked into the restrooms. Grateful to be away from all of the glee (no pun intended) at their table, she splashed some cool water on her inexplicably warm cheeks.  She didn’t feel sad, exactly (though she _had_ had three glasses of water), but there was a throb in her chest.

After using the facilities ( _three_ glasses), she washed her hands and bit her lip as she tried to process her _exact_ feelings. When she reached the table the waitress was handing Mr. Schue his credit card back. As she reached for her coat off the back of her chair, Mr. Schue put his wallet back in his pocket. “Rachel, you didn’t leave with everyone else?” He sounded surprised? But not really.

“I had to use the restroom.” She pushed her other arm into the sleeve of the coat and began buttoning it. “Thanks for dinner, Mr. Schue.” He smiled and waved her away. “But wasn’t it _a lot_?”

He stuck his hands in his jean pockets before taking them back out and reaching for his coat inches from her hand on the table, where she’d set her purse. “To be honest, I don’t have much to spend on anymore, especially around the holidays.”

She smiled at him, aiming for sympathetic, but certain it came of pitying. “Do you have a ride home?” he asked, with a waiver of nerves in his voice. Rachel was almost certain he was looking for a grateful (but definite) “no,” but she _really_ did not want to walk the thirty blocks back to her house.

So, she compromised; she didn’t lie to make things easy for him, but she also didn’t force him into taking her home. “It’s not that far of a walk, Mr. Schue. Besides, the snow is refreshing, don’t you think?” Mr. Schue fiddled with his coat buttons and tightened his scarf before sticking his hands in his pockets.

 

“My car’s parked at my apartment, about ten blocks from here.” It wasn’t an embossed invitation, but she’d take it.

“Thanks, Mr. Schue.” He gave her a gentle smile, and she slipped her hat on. Purse in her hand, Mr. Schue opened the door for her, and she felt herself blush as she hurried past him, into the cold. The frigid air felt good on her warm cheeks, and she paused in front of the restaurant as Mr. Schue caught up to her. “Which way?” she asked, and was answered with a nod of his head to the right, and his back to her.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until Mr. Schue looked over at her. “Do you and your dads have any plans for break?”

“Not really. My dads and I go to the theatre together, but that’s closer to New Year’s.” Rachel looked down, sticking her hands in her pockets. “They’ve been fighting recently, so I suggested they get away for the weekend. They left for Vermont last night.”

She glanced at Mr. Schue out of the corner of her eye, and noticed him looking at her. “That’s really sweet, Rachel. But are you alright with being alone for the holidays?”

“Actually, Hanukkah was in the beginning of December this year, so my dads and I already celebrated.” Rachel looked again, but this time Mr. Schue’s eyes were on his snow-dusted shoes, the wind brushing tiny flakes off of nearby trees and roofs. “Are you alright, Mr. Schue?” She looked up at him, and added, “Being alone for the holidays?”

Mr. Schue didn’t answer, but instead pushed his hands further into his coat pockets, and ducked his chin into his scarf. Rachel wanted to retract the question, apologize, but she also _really_ wanted to know the answer. And she knew he needed to tell someone, tell _her._

After another moment, he looked at her and sighed, and she could almost swear she saw the start of tears in his eyes. “I will be. I, uh, never thought it would be bad, you know? Have an extra bit of time to yourself. Really, a holiday is just another day.” He shook his head and gave a humorless chuckle. “But then the holiday specials come on TV, and you walk by a tree lot, only to remember that you’d be buying your own tree for yourself, decorating it _yourself_ , cleaning it up _yourself_ , and it just starts to weigh on you. You realize that once isn’t so bad, but if you’re doing this again next year? A whole year will be gone.” He looked at Rachel, and she swallowed a little nervously, not knowing how to respond.

He scrunched up his face, and pulled his right hand out of his pocket, his leather glove going to the bridge of his nose. “God, Rach, I’m so sorry. I really…that wasn’t what I meant to—“

“Don’t worry about it Mr. Schue. I understand. “ And she _did_. She thought back to that conversation they had when he’d first taken over glee, and she told him she could feel the clock ticking away. She could still feel it, even more so now, and she hoped he remembered what she’d said, that he knew she really did understand. It was almost alarming, how much she wanted him to see she was genuine, and so she stopped walking, and waited for him to acknowledge what she’d said.

After a beat, Mr. Schue turned and noticed she’d stopped. He walked the two steps back to her, and squinted at her as the flurries flew around, tangling in their eyelashes. Rachel fought to keep hers open, keep the connection. Finally, Mr. Schue shifted, almost uncomfortably, and rested his hand gently on her shoulder, close to her thin scarf and the cool skin of her neck underneath. “I know, I appreciate it, Rachel.”

She gave him a mega-watt smile, and nodded. Breaking the unusual tension of the moment, Mr. Schue smiled back, giving her shoulder a pat before resting his hand on her back ( _lower_ back, she noted), and moving toward his apartment again. Once she fell into step with him, his hand fell from her back, but brushed against her arm as he slipped his hand back into his pocket.

Their new, closer proximity didn’t escape her, and Rachel felt a shiver run through her. “Are you too cold?” The level of concern in his voice did her in, and she tried to say no, but a sudden wave shot through her, and her teeth chattered, belying her refusal. “Here,” he slipped his scarf from his neck, and set it across her shoulders.

Rachel brought her hands from her own pockets to either give it back or pull it closer (she wasn’t sure, yet), as Mr. Schue stopped, and started to pull the doubled end through the loop near her right shoulder. “Excuse me!” A voice boomed from directly behind Rachel, and she automatically stepped forward to get out of their way.

At the same time, Mr. Schue used the ends of his scarf in his hand to pull her forward, too, as the shopper rushed past them, boxes nearly falling out of his arms as his boots clomped over the snow.

Rachel looked away from the display, back to Mr. Schue now standing directly in front of her and so, _so_ close. He looked back down at her, hands resting against the thick wool of her coat, still grabbing both ends of his scarf.

Slowly, Rachel brought her arms up and slid her hands around her neck, above the scarf, and pulled her hair free. She shook the loose curls gently, the snow making kinks and waves in the thick locks. Mr. Schue watched her, before clearing his throat and finally looping the scarf through, and fiddling with the neck quickly. The material of the gloves felt cool against her cheek, but she smiled through it, and looked up at him through her bangs. “Thank you.” Before he could pull away from her, she reached up and flipped his collar, to give him a little more protection from the biting cold.

Turning quickly, she hunched her shoulders forward and started to walk. Aware that Mr. Schue was a few steps behind her, she quickly ducked her head down, pushing her chin and mouth under the warm material. Indulging quickly, she closed her eyes and inhaled the warm, comfortable male scent clinging to the heavy fabric. She righted herself before Mr. Schue fell back into step with her, and she looked over at him with a smile.

They continued in silence, before Rachel felt a prickle on the back of the neck. Feeling like she was being watched, she turned her head slightly to find Mr. Schue’s eyes shifting away from her. After a moment, she felt them again, and with a confused laugh, she asked, “What?”

Flipping the collar on his coat closer to his neck, he shook his head and Rachel felt a small stab of guilt. Before she could offer his scarf back, he spoke softly. “You seem to be in a much better mood than before.”

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“You, uh, seemed to perk up after Brittany’s gift.” She smiled. “If I’d known that’s all it took to fix your mood swings…” he trailed off, and Rachel felt a smile tug at her lips. Before Mr. Schue thought she was upset with his joke, she gave a little giggle. He turned, almost startled, and she scrunched her nose.

“Demands for solos I _rightfully deserve_ cannot be brushed aside with souvenirs of nature, so don’t get any ideas.” This time he laughed, tipping his head back and baring his beautiful teeth. Rachel watched his movements with a wistful smile, relieved that her tone came off playful (Mr. Schue had a tendency to be a little uptight when it came to her, she’d realized).

“Noted.”

Feeling an urge to keep the conversation going, Rachel paused only for a moment before offering, “She included me. I wasn’t expecting that.” Immediately Rachel regretted her words, and she pushed her lips tightly together to keep from saying more stupid thoughts.

Mr. Schue didn’t say anything for a moment, but finally he spoke. “Rachel, I don’t think anyone would ever forget you.” His tone was light, and she wanted to keep her answer the same. But suddenly she _had_ to correct him (that was always the problem, wasn’t it?).

“I wasn’t surprised she remembered me; I was surprised she _included_ me. One implies responsibility. The other implies intent.” She didn’t like how self-pitying she sounded, but it had been happening more and more recently.

“Rachel…we…the club all include you. They see you as one of them, now.” She nodded gently.

“I guess. It just, I needed tonight to remind me.” She looked down. “Now that I’m not with Finn, I just—“

“Dating Finn is not the reason things changed with the others, Rachel. It wasn’t that you were suddenly an extension of him, you know.” She watched as he rounded his shoulders. “It was that you made an effort with each of them. Yes, in part, you were, for lack of better word, _nicer_ to others because of him. But it was still you.”

Rachel was floored. Looking at him with awe, she asked, quietly, “You saw all of that?”

He laughed, deeply. “I may have other things going on, but glee is still my life. Sad as that is for a divorced middle-aged Spanish teacher.”

Rachel let it be quiet for a moment, but soon added, “It’s not sad.” And, as an afterthought, “And you are definitely not middle-aged.”

They were more than halfway by now, and Rachel was more than ready to be inside a warm car. As she walked, she couldn’t help but notice that there was something in her shoe, or on the bottom of her shoe. As she walked, she tried to scrape her foot against the sidewalk, but it wasn’t working.

Finally, Mr. Schue asked, “Rachel? Are you OK?” She laughed, and explained, scraping her foot as she went. As they were walking in front of a little café, a biker rounded the corner, brushing past them quickly. Rachel jumped a little, startled, and Mr. Schue backed up. Trying to move out of his way, Rachel backed up a step farther, her foot catching on the rock, and she started to fall backward, toward the café door.

Mr. Schue reached out to grab her as he saw her falling, and succeeded, but stepped forward quickly to recover. Miraculously, they both ended upright in the doorway of the café. As they giggled at the turn of events, Rachel felt a jolt of heat go through her to be in Mr. Schue’s arms again. Before they could part, a bell jingled above them.

The café door had an entrance bell, and the proprietor, a middle-aged, heavy-set woman with a dark blue snowflake dress and twinkling eyes was flipping the sign to closed. Smiling at Rachel, she looked to Mr. Schue and then took in his arms around her. “Merry Christmas, you two! Lucky landing I just saw,” she winked as she pointed up, at the sprig of mistletoe next to the bell signaling a customer.

“Oh, no, we’re not—“

“It’s bad luck to break a tradition.” Rachel smiled up at Mr. Schue as he flustered, but didn’t move his arms from around her. Rachel watched his mouth as he explained all of the reasons he wasn’t going to kiss her, with words like _inappropriate_ , _misunderstand_ , and _underage_. She watched the blush rise on his cheeks against the cold, and then she caught him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She slipped her hand out of her glove, tucking it back into her pocket, and slid her chilled fingertips against the red of his jaw line. She felt like she was moving underwater as more words ( _teacher_ , _arrest_ , and _want_ ) bounced around behind her eyes, and she pushed her weight onto her toes. Mr. Schue turned toward her, and she let her weight shift forward, leaning into his solid chest as she pressed her wind-chilled lips against his.

Rachel squeezed her eyes tightly as she waited, _prayed_ for him to reciprocate. It felt like an eternity of waiting, strands of her hair swirling against her cheek, her nails digging into her hand in her pocket as her other hand pressed against Mr. Schue’s cheek, demanding his attention more than the pressure of her lips against his.

She shook her head almost imperceptibly, not wanting to face the rejection that was sure to follow her pulling back. She felt her lips part slightly as she drew in air (read: courage), and then pressed another kiss to his bottom lip, this time letting her tongue dart out.

Finally, Rachel felt Mr. Schue’s body stiffen, but his hand slid through the gap between her arm and her side, and he splayed it low on her back, where he’d guided her from earlier. He made a pained sound, but his lips pressed back against hers.

She felt tears prickle at her eyes, but squeezed them tighter, and repeated her actions. Mr. Schue’s lips parted, and Rachel ran her tongue against his, and uncoiled her pocketed fist. She ran her hand between their bodies, clutching desperately at the buttons on his coat as he _kissed her back_.

Her lips opened in a gasp when she felt a small tug at her hair—Mr. Schue had wound his hand under her hat, grasping desperately as he pulled her even closer to him. Rachel was certain she was seeing stars behind her eyes that had nothing to do with the pressure she was putting on them.

As quickly as he had fallen into her, he was away, and the sudden chill against her front drew a piteous whimper from her lips. The resounding clanging of a small store bell filled her ears, and she could barely focus as Mr. Schue bent down, picked up her fallen hat and handed it back to her with a mumbled, “Here you go.”

He walked quickly ahead, taking long strides even for his already long legs, his shoulders hunched forward, hands in pockets, except for the moment he swiped his hand through his curly hair, then scratched at his neck.

Rachel felt a surge of anger, and ran to catch up with him, her nostrils flaring slightly. He glanced over at her as she caught up to him, her arms pumping quickly as she practically jogged next to him. The sight would surely have been funny if both parties had not been ready to tear something open.

The sidewalk was not wide, and approaching from the other end was a family of five, with three children bouncing around the spread of the walkway. As they drew nearer, Rachel glanced to the side, looking at Mr. Schue. Noting that he clearly had no plans to stop his warpath, Rachel looked past him, to the narrow alley five feet up.

She pulled her hand out of her pocket, and then grabbed his forearm, and stepped in front of him without warning, almost causing them to topple to the ground. Mr. Schue recovered quickly, however, and before he could question what she was doing, Rachel had him in the alley, where she pushed him (surprisingly effectively) against the brick wall.

“Rachel, what the hell were you thinking back there? You can’t just—“ after taking in the large pine tree next to the business beside the alley, and noting that they were in an almost secluded area, Rachel pulled her gloves off and shoved them hastily into her pockets, before launching herself at Mr. Schue.

She was in his arms before he could finish his sentence, and the second he’d started to speak again, she pressed both hands to his cheeks. His eyes had flashed, but instead of reacting the way she’d feared, he’d pushed his hand back to its place behind her neck, in her hair.

He was drawing from her lips as if he was drowning, and, if it felt anything like it did for her, it might not be too far off. “God, Rachel,” he was pulling away from her, and she braced herself at the same time that she pawed at his chest and buried her face in his neck, pressing kisses there like she was trying to change his mind.

Mr. Schue’s hand was still planted firmly at the base of her neck, and he tugged at her, drawing her back up to his face. Looking her in the eye for a moment, he paused, before crushing her to him, dragging his lips back over hers (with the occasional groan like she was killing him).

When she slid her hands down to his pants, tugging at the buckle, he pulled back. Turning them so she was against the wall, he pulled her hands away, holding them against the wall on either side of her head. “Are you crazy?” He stared at her, before stepping back until he was leaning against the other wall, putting no more than three feet between them. “I’m crazy. What the hell?” Rachel watched as he seemed to struggle with himself, his hands threading his hair in a motion she was used to.

Finally, he looked at her straight on. “Rachel. We cannot, this,” he motioned between them, “cannot happen.” She gave him her best innocent face, and stepped closer, invading his space. To his credit, he did not back up, or squirm.

“Why not?”

He laughed, hallow and low, his eyes wide in confusion. “Why _not_? Damn it, Rachel. You’re my student, we’re in an alley, it is _freezing_ out here!”

She shrugged. “I don’t care. I want this,” and she reached for him.

He threw his hands up and walked back to the other wall. “Despite what you believe, Rachel, not everything is about you.” She turned to face him, continuing their dance of sorts.

“I know.” She fingered the fabric at her neck, and he gulped. “This is about _us_.”

“Us?! Rachel, there is no _us._ I’m not sure how I’ve led you on, but—“

This time it was her turn to let out a twisted, humorless laugh. “You, Mr. Schuester, are one hell of a bad liar.” She took the scarf off of her neck, finally, immediately missing its warmth, but throwing it at him anyway. He clutched it to his chest and she stepped toward him, pointing. “Your scarf?”

“I was just—“

“’Just’ nothing, _William_. You offer a friend your scarf, fine. You offer your _female_ friend a scarf, being a gentleman? Fine. I’m not delusional. You _put that scarf on them_? Yeah, that’s crossing a line. And don’t _even_ try to tell me you didn’t feel that same moment I did when we were pushed together.”

Before Mr. Schue could contribute, Rachel continued. “But fine, you were feeling sentimental, it was an anomalous romantic moment, I get it. But that kiss?” She smiled with a devious twist as she completely invaded his space, pressing against him completely, and tilting her head almost all the way back to look him in the eye. “You were with me 100%, there.” She brushed her fingertips over his lower lip, and smirked when his eyes fluttered closed.

Pulling on his coat until he was closer to her height, she leaned to his ear, pressing her lips against the shell as she whispered, “You liked it just as much as I did, and you want me just as desperately as I want you, don’t you, _Mr._ Schue?”

Rachel started to smile in her known victory, until strong hands grabbed her upper arms and pushed her back against the brick wall. Again, Mr. Schue’s mouth devoured her. The high she got from his hand running up the back of her coat, searching for the bottom of her shirt as his other hand pressed against her cool thigh was immense. But she was Rachel Berry, so she had to push it.

As his mouth fell to her now bared neck, she tilted her head back, and she moaned. “Your problem,” she internally winced as her filters failed her, intoxicated as she was in this moment, “is that you have no impulse control.” He nipped at her, gently. “You wanted to touch me, so you did.” His right hand ran up her thigh, finding the end of her thick stockings, and murmuring a prayer as he met the flesh above them.

“When I kissed you, you wanted to kiss me back. You tried not to, a little, but you wanted to taste me, didn’t you?” She moaned as his hand dipped into the front of her panties, and he felt the slick flesh.

Mr. Schue nuzzled her ear, croaking out, “Yes, God, Rach. Yes, I wanted to taste you. And you taste fucking incredible,” before nipping at her ear. Rachel moaned loudly, and his eyes flew open, smirking as the hand that had found the warm flesh of her lower back came out from under her shirt and pressed against her mouth.

“You know what _your_ problem is, Rachel?” She gazed at him with wide eyes, the only feature visible over the hand covering the lower half of her face. He flicked his thumb against her clit as he slid his finger into her, breath catching as hers did, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Look at me, Rachel.” She did as she was told. “Your problem, Rachel, is that you think you know everything. But _I’m_ the teacher, Rachel. And that means you listen to me, you respect me.” Rachel breathed heavily against his hand, her muscles fluttering around his finger.

Mr. Schue added his middle finger, pumping slowly into her tight channel, and taking his hand away from her mouth when her lips parted, and she licked them quickly. He pressed his thumb against her lower lip and leaned closer to her. “I think you actually _like_ listening to me, don’t you? You don’t let others give you orders, you never listen to when I tell you to do things, because that’s really what you want, isn’t it?” Rachel licked the tip of his thumb, nodding while he pressed his thumb against her clit in quick circles. “I want you to answer me, Rachel.”

Her eyes flew open as her hands moved from their places at her sides, and again started for his belt. “Yes, Mr. Schue.”

He stopped the motions of his hand. “Uh, uh. Full sentences, Rachel.” Grinning, Rachel finished with his belt and quickly slipped her hand beneath the waist of his jeans.

Taking him firmly in hand, she rolled her hips forward on his hand, and answered, breathily, “I like it when you tell me what to do, Mr. Schuester.” The groan with she drew from his lips was part words, part the motions of her hand as his head dropped back and he moved closer into her space.

Rachel finished unzipping and unbuttoning his pants, and Mr. Schue pulled her panties down to her knees. Mr. Schue captured her lips from her smirk, and nipped at her top lip, before reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Rachel rolled her eyes at the cliché image of the condom ring etched into the leather as he pulled out a packet.

Biting gently at his neck, Rachel groaned in impatience. “Hurry up,” she mumbled, reaching down to try to speed up his task.

“Uh, uh,” he scolded, before finishing and brushing her hands aside. Reaching under her skirt (barely longer, despite the weather), he palmed her ass as he pulled her close. “Put your legs around me,” he ordered, and she obeyed. Once she was secure, he backed her up against the wall, and she looked to the side. They were still covered by the Christmas tree at the entrance of the alley.

Rachel spread her legs as wide as she could with her boy shorts in the way, and rolled her hips, brushing her folds against his cock. With a moan, he leaned in, making eye contact for confirmation. Rachel nodded, and Mr. Schue brought a hand from her waist and guided himself in.

Rachel felt herself stretch as his cock entered her, the sensation very different. Mr. Schue paused for a moment before she moaned, “Please, Mr. Schue.” He responded with a strangled groan of his own, and pushed forward. He held her to him as she got used to the feeling, and some tears stung at the back of her eyes.

After a beat, Rachel flexed her muscles, and Mr. Schue shifted forward farther, before pulling back out. Bringing her knees closer to his sides, Rachel leaned her head against his shoulder, her face facing his neck. The angle was awkward, but his breath against her ear, and the murmurs of, “Rachel, so good,” while his fingers ran through her hair kept her from wanting to postpone until they made it to his apartment.

In addition, she wasn’t quite sure how long this impulse of his would last, and she’d wanted him for so long, now. His thrusting was getting quicker, and his breath shallower, as her sighs and moans were becoming more staccato.

Feeling the tension building low in her core, she tensed her back, and slid a hand from Mr. Schue’s chest as she reached between their bodies, searching for the pressure that would put her over the edge. Rachel buried her head further into Mr. Schue’s shoulder, kissing and biting occasionally as she lost control. Finally she felt the tension peak, and her hand flew up to his chest as she tilted her pelvis down, riding out the intense sensation radiating outward. Mr. Schue followed immediately behind her, gripping her hips almost painfully as he followed her over the edge.

They stayed that way for a moment, his head resting against her neck. After a beat he helped her down awkwardly, as he pinched off the condom and pulled it off. Rachel pulled up her panties and straightened her stockings as Mr. Schue tucked himself back into his pants and refastened them. Glancing to the left, Rachel watched as he jogged to the other end of the alley and tossed the condom in a dumpster.

She watched in amusement as he made his way back to her, a confused look on his face. Rachel knew he was already struggling with what happened, but they were just two blocks from his apartment now. She gave him a kiss and smiled at him, before slipping her hand into his and heading back to the alley entrance.

“Rachel, wait,” Mr. Schue’s voice was low, and waivered. “We need to—“

“Do you have hot chocolate in your apartment?” Confused, Mr. Schue nodded. “Then we can talk back there, OK?”

He laughed quietly, and gave her a gentle look. “There you go, bossing me around again.”

Sending him a sly grin, she tugged him toward his apartment. “Don’t worry, it can be your turn again soon.”


End file.
